Trina grabbed an energy drink from the fridge, popped the top, and took a long swallow. “Take the junior IT contract in Malibu,” she muttered to herself as she wandered into the living room of her one-bedroom apartment. “It’ll be good work experience.”

In her head, Tristan’s voice overlapped her mocking tone. You’ll love California. And I got you a reference.

She blew out a puff of air as she flopped onto the couch. Ninety-nine percent of the time she felt nothing but gratitude that her brother pointed her toward the prestigious IT job after she graduated college.

Tonight was the exception. She glanced at her work laptop, where it taunted her from the coffee table. Her hiring manager—and everyone else—neglected to mention that being low man on the totem pole meant she’d be on call on Christmas Eve.

She grabbed the game controller from its resting spot next to her, and un-paused the first-person shooter she was playing. Instead of flying back to Utah to spend the holiday with her family—instead of having a white Christmas—she was looking forward to sunny highs of seventy-five, guzzling liquid alertness to stay awake through the night, and slaughtering Hoarde in her company-provided apartment.

At least there was something satisfying about the squir-splat sound they made when she scored a headshot.

She finished her drink quickly—experience said it would taste nasty once it got warm—and wiped out the rest of the baddies, to clear the level she was on.

It was nearly eleven at night. She only had to stay up for seven more hours. Odds were almost zero she’d get a support call during that window, but she’d rather not have to shrug off a sleepy brain if someone did need help.

Besides, she was determined to prove herself in this job. A solid recommendation from here meant a springboard for her career in IT. She was willing to suck it up and do a few grunt jobs if it meant her boss put in a good word for her when her contract was up.

As if summoned by her rambling thoughts, her work laptop chimed. She paused her game and prayed for a one-off question.

Switch failure. Requesting a replacement. The window said it was from the Ride & Surf account.

She knew the company. Tristan’s friend Spencer owned and had engineered a large number of attractions in the national theme- and indoor water-park chain. Ride & Surf was also one of her company’s largest clients.

Her employer provided and maintained network hardware for a lot of businesses, several of whom couldn’t afford to be offline, even on Christmas.

None of that meant she could provide Ride & Surf with new hardware before she did troubleshooting. She had to know the part she delivered would fix the issue.

Will you describe the symptoms? she replied in the chat.

The switch is broken. It doesn’t work.

She pursed her lips. Not quite what she asked. She swallowed a hint of frustration and tried to think of a different way to phrase her question, to get the answer she needed.

Before she could type a response, another note from Ride & Surf came through. And I swear to God—if you make me power-cycle anything, I’ll have your boss on the phone so fast, you won’t know which way to look, to see if the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

She gritted her teeth, and her irritation surged. It was tempting to reply with something like, I can call your boss too, asshole. Not that Spencer would take her call. Sure, he’d given her a recommendation for this job, but he did it at Tristan’s request.

She hadn’t seen the man in years. Back then she’d been crushing on her college-age brother’s sexy but way too old for her friends. Though she’d always preferred Spencer over Mischa. Even when she was ten, Mischa’s impulsive recklessness made her itch against the chaos.

Instead of offering a retort to the snide comment with one of her own, she started to type a form answer, letting the person on the other end know why she had to troubleshoot, and that in the long run it would make both their lives easier.

Are you there? Did you fall asleep? The questions came through before she could finish. If you’re hoping to drag this out until your shift is over, so you can ignore me and get back to opening presents once Mommy calls you up from the basement, think again. Tomorrow is one of our biggest days of the season, and I need this network at 100%, tonight.

Arrogant, presumptuous fucking dickwad. She didn’t know which bothered her more—his tone, or the reminder that if she were home, her room in her parent’s basement was exactly where she’d be.

I’m sorry this is keeping you from your life. She wouldn’t be cut off again, and typed at a rate that made her fingertips ache. But I need to do my job. You’re not the only person working tonight.

She hit Enter, to get something on the screen, then continued. If you don’t let me troubleshoot, and I bring you a part that doesn’t fix the issue, I won’t be the one who’s dizzy from their reprimand.

Fury simmered hot and gnawing in her chest, as she waited for a reply.

Nothing.

An edge of anxiousness crept in. She hadn’t been as rude with him as he was with her, but he was the client. Would he call her bluff on the implied threat?

Still no response. Was he still there?

Her chat window exploded with a bullet-list of troubleshooting steps taken, and their results. It was followed by Now may I have my hardware switch?

She was out of patience and arguments. And didn’t want to risk calling him a liar if he’d actually done all of those things. I’ll be there in an hour. Please have someone available to let me in.

Which meant she’d have to meet the asshole in person. Not that she could do anything about that. The part in question was one they stocked locally, so she wouldn’t have to wait for delivery. Best to get this over with.

The Hoarde would have to wait. She shut down her game and steeled herself for a couple of hours of the same antagonism she’d experienced over chat. Possibly more, once her know-it-all contact realized she wasn’t a tech guy but a twenty-four-year-old girl.

She sent a text to her back-up that she was going on-site. At least this way she didn’t have to figure out what to do with her night.

Awesome. Not.

*

SPENCER WANTED TO SEND his primary contact at Pipeware a message about the rude tech on the other end of the chat. He found enough reason to stop himself, though.

It was possible he deserved the attitude. He could admit he’d been an ass, too.

His foul mood wasn’t because he was working Christmas Eve. He’d taken the shift so his people could spend the night and morning with their families.

It was the well-meaning email from his sister, a reminder of why he wasn’t spending the holiday with her, that pissed him off.

She’d dropped him a line to let him know he was welcome to join her and his ex-wife for Midnight Mass. And if he was prepared to go to Confession, his sins would be forgiven.

His sin was driving his ex into the arms of another man while they were still married, because she wanted children and Spencer didn’t. At least that was his sister’s excuse.

The reality was, he and his sister had never been close. His ex was her best friend, and in his sister’s eyes, his only redeeming quality. The divorce, regardless of who cheated, must be his fault, because her friend deserved better.

He and his sister hadn’t spoken for nearly three years. Until that fucking email this afternoon.

The building doorbell chimed, drawing him from the angry trip into the past, and he turned to check the security cameras. The grainy nighttime image showed a girl—young woman?—shifting her weight from one foot to the other, as she waited at the front door.

“May I help you?” he asked through the intercom.

She jumped and turned her gaze toward the speaker. Did she look familiar? “Trina Hough, from Pipeware. I have your replacement switch.”

Fuck. He’d taken his frustration out on his best friend’s baby sister. At least the ribbing he’d get for it would be lighthearted.

“Data center is in the basement. Come on down.” He buzzed her in. A moment later, the data-center buzzer sounded, and he went to let in his tech-for-the-evening, and do a little groveling.

Spencer opened the door, and his thoughts ground to a halt. The woman in front of him was anything but the brat-in-braces he remembered. She had the same bright-blue eyes, and her blonde hair was pulled into twin braids, but nothing about her the curve of her hips, as they led to her waist and full breasts, said little girl.

He felt like a dirty old man for even looking, and especially for the rush of want along his skin. The way her long-sleeved shirt hugged round breasts and lead to the curve of her waist and hips made for jeans, said she wasn’t a baby anything.

When she met his gaze, her blush deepened, which was even more alluring—and fuck what was wrong with him—before horror spread across her face.

“Oh God.” Her tone matched her expression. “I was talking to you, wasn’t I? Damn it. I didn’t mean anything I said. I’m sorry. I’m here to install your new hardware. I’m so sorry. Don’t get me fired, please? I didn’t—”

“Stop.” He touched her hand, to draw her attention, and heat whispered through him. “I wouldn’t get you fired. Even if you weren’t you.” Which would make the attraction easier to accept, and that was probably a bad idea, so...

He shut off the lust-fueled part of his brain. He wasn’t the guy who forgot how to think when there was an attractive woman in the room, and she was here to do a job, not be ogled. “Hardware’s over here.” He nodded toward the racks where their servers were kept.

She followed him to the cage. He unlocked what she needed access to, and stepped out of her way.

She dove into her tasks with zero hesitation. Impressive. “I really am sorry about before,” she said as she worked.

“Because you yelled at the boss?” Amusement tickled his senses.

“Well, yeah.”

He shook his head, more to force his attention away from her round ass when she bent at the waist, than in response to her statement. “I was out of line, and you handled it appropriately. Any of my people ever talks to you like that, I hope you’ll let me know.”

“Thank God,” she said with a laugh. “Because I was trying to figure out if you’d even take my call if I tried file a complaint.”

“I’ll always take your call.” Was he flirting now?

The way she glanced over her shoulder, brows raised in question, made it look as though she wondered the same thing.

It was also an almost identical look to one her brother frequently wore, and enough to snap Spencer out of the ass-admiration-induced trance. “Speaking of family,” he said. “I’m surprised you didn’t fly back to Utah for the holiday.”

“We weren’t talking about family.”

“We were about to.” He should shut up and excuse himself, so she could finish what she was doing.

She let out a light laugh, but there was a hint of sad bitterness in it. “I’m the new kid. I get the shit jobs.”

“Then what does that make this?” he teased. Sticking around here a little longer wouldn’t hurt.

“It makes me wish I had a boss like you, who didn’t ask his employees to work when he wasn’t willing to.” She snapped her jaw shut and looked at him, eyes wide. “Not that I’m saying bad things about my boss. Or job.”

“I promise everything said here is just between us.” He was definitely fighting the temptation to flirt, and losing.

“Thank you.” She fumbled with a pair of wires, trying to twist her position enough to plug one in without losing track of the other.

He covered one of her hands, to take the stray cable. “Let me help.”

“Mr. Powell”—her voice was strained—“maybe you should let me finish this, so I can bring you back online quickly.”

“It’s Spencer. Please.” Because, God help him, the way she said Mr. Powell elicited a whole new wave of fantasies, a lot of them involving her on her knees, still wearing the braids but not much else, and looking up at him with those big blue eyes. “And I promise not to get in the way. I’m an engineer before I’m a CEO.”

“A waterslide engineer.”

“Who built this network from the ground up, and only called you because I needed tech authorization to get this part. I was the one who did the troubleshooting I sent you.”

She chewed her bottom lip and furrowed her brow. “I could use the extra set of hands.”

“Point me in a direction, boss.” Thankfully that didn’t fill his head with more random snippets of her, naked, flushed, and under him.

She was on top instead.

He fucking needed help. Or to get laid. Or go jerk off. It was going to be a long night if he couldn’t get his thoughts under control.